That Good Night (10 page)

All that Baxter had told them on the phone was that he had a client interested in the boat and asked if we could come over to talk. So the Burrises were surprised and a bit taken back when Baxter brought up the idea of leasing. Seated around the kitchen table, the Burrises looked at each other like the garbage stank. Adam said gloomily, “Gee, that's not what we had in mind. I don't think that we can do that.” Roslyn, eyes cast downward, slowly shook her head.

Ever the salesman, Baxter laid out the advantages and disadvantages: they would retain ownership and in three years their financial picture would brighten. They could still live their dream. No more boat payments. On the other hand, they would have to get by on what they had, hope for a sale with thoughts that things might brighten up. It was in their hands.

The couple looked at each other, this time there were no wrinkled noses. “Could we have some time alone?” Adam asked. They got up from the table, went into the bedroom, and closed the door.

Baxter excused himself, “I need to make a call,” he said, leaving to go outside.

I sat alone at the table, my fingers crossed. I wanted that boat and was eager to do what I had to do to get it. I figured in addition to the lease price, I would need a good bit more for the extras I wanted installed.

Adam and Roslyn emerged from the bedroom looking
ready for business. I've seen that look before. In countless sales meeting, prospects would suddenly switch from doom and gloom to calculated maneuvering. It meant that a deal was in the making. Baxter returned from making his phone call and joined us at the table.

Adam led the discussion with questions aplenty, starting with, “What about your commission, Baxter?”

“Same as before, fifteen percent.”

Turning to me, Adam asked, “Are you willing to pay that?”

“I'll pay half,” I countered.

“All,” Roslyn leaped in like a fullback. “Plus,” she added, “Fifty-thousand held in escrow for any damage not covered by insurance.”

“Sixty-five percent on the commission and twenty-five for the escrow with the proviso that I can change the name of the boat,” I offered, adding, “There will also be some insurance costs which I am willing to pay.” Baxter told them that a name change would only require a slight addendum to the commission papers, that it was no big deal and he would help them through the process as well as draw up the papers for the deal. The Burrises finally agreed.

Before we shook hands, Adam hesitated, “Ah, this may be a touchy subject, but what if you, well, you know, you expire before the end of the lease?”

I laughed, “You mean if I die out there, what happens to the boat?” Adam nodded his response. “Then,” I said, “You get the boat back and I go to heaven.” Laughter all around.

“I'm sorry to butt in,” Roslyn said, “but there remains the question of insurance.” Looking at Baxter, she asked, “Do we need to call Janet, our agent?”

“All settled, Roslyn. When I went outside before, I called her and she gave a thumbs-up. It'll be costly, but Charlie's paying so I wouldn't worry. Janet's faxing over a retainer as we speak.”

With more handshakes all around, Roslyn offered wine for a toast to seal the deal.

“Paperwork?” I asked Baxter.

“Why don't you and I go back to the office? I'll have the papers drawn up, you can write a check. A few signatures later and the deal is done.”

Quite frankly, I was anxious to get this deal done. A handshake might legally seal a deal, but only if you go to court to enforce it. I didn't want anything to do with that. I said, “How about I pay for the boat here and now. A cash deal. Write out the particulars on a piece of paper, we'll sign and be done with it.”

“Cash!” Roslyn exclaimed.

“Cash,” I repeated. “No checks, just hard U.S. currency.”

“That's rather unusual,” Baxter said.

I said calmly. “There's nothing illegal here, just an agreement between two parties. You get the money; I get to use the boat.”

Adam asked Baxter if the deal was legal. “I don't see why not. Two parties agree to terms, money changes hands and that's that.”

“Do we have to report it to the IRS?” Roslyn asked.

Baxter answered with, “You might want to consult with an accountant.”

“Or,” I interrupted, smiling, “you can put in into a safety deposit box.”

Adam and Roslyn smiled back and forth to each other. “Deal,” Adam said.

I excused myself, grabbed my duffle, went into the bathroom,
counted out the right amount and returned to the table. I set the stacks of bills in front of me; a check would have gotten a glance and a smile. But stacks of hundred dollar bills brought glee.

The Burrises looked at each other, with eyes the size of dinner plates. Adam looked over at Baxter and asked, “Is this for real? I mean, have you ever done a deal like this before?”

Baxter shrugged, “To be honest, no. But I don't see anything wrong with it.”

“I guess we're okay then,” he said to Roslyn, but she was too busy counting the money to pay him any attention.

We signed the agreement, which was written in longhand by Baxter on a sheet of composition paper. Handing it to Adam, he said, “Copy this exactly as I have it written. Both of you sign each copy and that's that.”

I paid Baxter my part of his commission plus the escrow which he agreed to hold in an interest-bearing account.

On our way to Baxter's car, he said, “I thought you had clothes in that bag, Charlie. This is a first for me.”

“Me, too,” I replied.

That night, I slept aboard.

The hefty full-battened mainsail was furled in the boom, raising it was as easy as pushing a button. This, of course, meant that I had no need to go forward to winch it up, a great plus for safety. Both jib and staysail were handled by furlers as well, each with a dedicated electric winch. I felt a bit guilty about not having to heave-ho halyards like I did when I was younger, but not having to go forward was far safer than trying to manhandle sails.

For sea trials, winds were perfect at 10 to 15 knots gusting 20 out of the west. Once we cleared the harbor, Baxter led me through the process of unfurling sails, first the main, then the jib, a 120 Genoa. We left the staysail furled. With sails pulling, I killed the engine. The boat's keel bit into the water, heeling us ten degrees so before settling on a steady course. Sailing a boat for the first time is like going on a first date; it either works or it doesn't. This boat worked. We rounded the harbor entrance buoy, trimmed the sails, and headed north toward William P. Lane Bridge. The knot meter registered 8.3 knots, a good speed given these wind conditions and sea state. This was no racing yacht. She was built for unpredictable weather and unforgiving seas. It's the kind of boat that prefers open waters to endless days tied to some godforsaken dock. God, was I happy. My smile came from well below my own keel, a satisfaction as deep as the briny sea. Baxter couldn't help but see my joy. It radiated
like beams of light. He asked, “Do you have a name for her yet?”

“I sure do,” I answered purposefully. “She's to be
That Good Night
.”

Pausing, Baxter frowned slightly. “Dylan Thomas?”

“Yup, again,” I answered.

A tacit understanding descended on us both as we turned our attention to the swish of salt water breaking from the bow. Our world was in agreement.

We spent the day taking
That Good Night
through her trials. At Baxter's urging, I singlehanded her through all points of sail, reefed her down, then finally lowered her sails and headed back to port. I put her dockside with nary a touch.
That Good Night
was mine.

Late in the afternoon, I borrowed the marina's loan-a-car and went shopping for supplies. I never had a boat with a deep freezer, a refrigerator, a wine cooler and the storage capacity of a moving van. Nor did I ever have to buy groceries bottom up. Lori saw to that. After she died, I got along buying exactly whatever I ran out of; empty cans and bottles defined my grocery list. Now, faced with a clean slate, I was at a loss. I walked the aisles of the grocery store tossing this and that into the cart. Lots of canned stuff, especially soup and fruit. When I returned to the boat to store my goods, I was astonished that I didn't have things like sugar, salt, pepper, milk, juice, lunch meat, bread, mayonnaise. What the hell was I going to do with Fruit-Loops, Tamarind sauce, and a bag of Rye Flour?

I was pondering what to do when I heard a tap on my hull. Topside, I peered down at the dock to see a young couple eyeing my boat. “We're admiring your boat, sir,” the young man said. “Ours is just down there,” he continued, pointing to a neatly
trimmed and painted wooden boat.

“We're live-aboards,” the young lady said proudly.

I thanked them for the boat compliment and congratulated them on their youthful determination. “Don't see many wooden boats these days,” I commented.

“That makes them cheap. And this is as solid as it gets, Mahogany planking, bronze fasteners. Real good shape.”

I gave a thumbs-up and said, “How about coming aboard to celebrate your adventurous lives with a glass of wine?”

Down below was a mess of groceries but that didn't deter the young couple from taking in the luxury of
That Good Night
.

Evan and Carol Emory were recent college grads, Carol with a degree in political science, Evan a biologist. “We're rebranding ourselves as vagabonds,” Evan declared, his arm snugly around Carol's thin waist. “Live-aboards. We sold our cars, used graduation gift money, and found some part-time work. Bought an old but solid woody.”

Carol jumped in. “Lots of our friends are jumping right into the job market. Getting an early start on career tracking. But not us.” Looking at Evan, she continued, “We have loans to pay, but we'll make it somehow. How about you?” she asked.

“Doing the same I guess, only on the other end of things. You two are on a life track and that sure beats a career track which sounds like a little slice of hell to me. How about that wine?” I said, avoiding the subject of my personal life.

Back in the cockpit sipping wine and enjoying the quiet of the early evening, Carol observed that I must be an exotic cook. “Baking your own Rye Bread and Tamarind sauce, that's pretty high-class cooking,” she observed. “But, Fruit loops, that somehow doesn't fit unless you're expecting grandkids.”

I laughed at her remarks, confessing my ill-conceived trip to the grocery store. “Do you have the receipt?” she asked. I nodded. “Well then, let's go back to the store and get this all settled.” We sipped our wine while these young vagabonds assumed the task of making sure that I had adequate stores. Carol was full of questions: “What do you like to cook? What's your favorite dish? Do you have any allergies? We like Dinty Moore Beef Stew, do you?”

My head was spinning. Refilling my wine glass, I gave Carol assurance that whatever she picked would be fine with me and that was that.

Back from our successful grocery buying spree, the Emorys helped me store the goods after which we went shore side for a delicious dinner of crab cakes with all the trimmings. Anyone who has ever voyaged knows the immediate kinship that can occur among sailors. Passing ships in the night, perhaps, but always memorable, always welcome.

Before going to sleep, I called Cat. He answered on the second ring.

“Yo, dude, what's up?” Without going into the details, I told Cat that I was in Maryland ready to put to sea. “Well, like you better hurry up,” he said. “You were on my list to call. Like there's a bloodhound snooping around looking for you. An insurance investigator. Hired by the nursing home after your kids hit it with a lawsuit. Like the guy grilled me like a hot dog. I didn't tell him a damn thing, but he's onto you going sailing thanks to old Emma. Like, he's got a lead on Bob, too. I don't know how he got that.”

“Did he mention my kids?” I asked.

“Not to me, but hey, I'm not like what you'd call privy to
the inside scoop. Like, what I do know is that this guy belongs on
Law and Orde
r.”

“Does he have a lead on where I was going?”

“It's secondhand, man. From Ashley. She told me that Emma like told the guy her story then at the end she said that you went sailing. Maybe looking for sex in Annapolis,” Cat laughed.

Paying no attention to Cat's sarcasm, I said, “Cat, give me a call if you find out anything else.” I gave him my phone number, but Cat told me he already had it stored in his iPhone. He used the words,
coded in my phone
. “And thanks for the heads up,” I added before hanging up.

I poured myself a glass of Scotch. I have two boys. You'd think my going missing would arouse enough curiosity for them to come looking. Instead, there's an insurance company out there wanting to prove me alive or dead by suicide. So, my kids go after Sunset instead of searching for me. What do I get from my gene pool but a fucking bloodhound? I downed the scotch, poured another, and called Bob.

After filling him in about my purchase, I told him about the investigator.

After a pause, Bob said, “So, get out of Maryland. And if he makes it up here he won't get very far. We don't like snoops.” Bob changed the subject. “Have a sail plan, yet?”

I went into detail about the boat, its systems, and how she handled. “I could go anywhere in the world,” I said. “I was thinking of coming up to Fundy, meet up with you, and then decide from there. How about it?”

“When?” Bob asked.

“I plan to leave tomorrow but I can't say when I'll arrive in
Maine. I'd like to take it slow.”

“Take as long as you like,” Bob said, “I'm not going anywhere. But don't take too long.”

“What's too long?”

“Long enough for me to die.”